


Ace of Cups

by Emjen_Enla



Series: Prompted Works [28]
Category: Alex Stern - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Aromantic Asexual Character, Aromantic Asexual Pamela Dawes, Aromantic Character, Asexual Character, College, Dawes's first few months as Oculus, Gen, Graduate School, I'm ninety percent sure this fic is still T-rated, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Platonic Relationships, Pre-Book 1: Ninth House, Trope Subversion/Inversion, let me know if I'm wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 11:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21178574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emjen_Enla/pseuds/Emjen_Enla
Summary: Anyone’s knee-jerk reaction would be to say Pamela Dawes was into Daniel Arlington. Pamela Dawes was not into Daniel Arlington. Or the one where Dawes is aroace.





	Ace of Cups

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Asexual Awareness Week everyone! This fic was written for Aspec Fandom Challenge. The theme this year is Trope Inversion, which in this context means exploring the way common fanfic romance tropes change when at least one of the involved characters is aspec (asexual/aromantic/agender). This fic is meant as an inversion of a slowburn, which as someone pointed out on Discord is technically “speedrun to friends.” Not sure if it’s a speedrun, but no one falls in love. The title is thanks to someone on another Discord server who helped me figure out which tarot cards can be interpreted to be about non-romantic relationships.
> 
> Dawes and Darlington are my favorite Ninth House characters, so here; have a fic about them! (Though admittedly, while Darlington's it, its mostly a fic about Dawes.)
> 
> Admittedly, I forgot the book specifies when Dawes become Oculus until I was at least two-thirds of the way through this fic, so if you’re wondering why Michelle’s barely in it; that’s why.
> 
> In full transparency I’ve never been to Connecticut, let alone to Yale so go easy on me for mistakes in scene description.
> 
> Note: I refer to Dawes as "Pammie" is this fic, because she wouldn't think of herself as Dawes in her own POV, and Pamela felt to formal to me.

If questioned, Pamela Dawes would swear that her interest in tarot was completely academic.

In some ways that was true. By the time she proposed her dissertation her interest _ was _academic. She wanted to know where the cards had come from and how they’d changed over the years. Her advisor had read the proposal and called it a “unique and intriguing topic,” but all that didn’t change the fact that there had been a time when her interest hadn’t been academic. There had been a time when she’d bought cards and taught herself to read them. When she’d allowed herself to wonder if it was real.

By the time Dean Sandow called her and offered her the Oculus position for Lethe, those days were long gone. She’d long since admitted to herself that magic didn’t exist and that tarot was just an interesting card game. In fact, she’d done such a good job at accepting that that when Dean Sandow told her about Lethe and the eight magical secret societies of Yale she’d laughed and told him that just because she was studying tarot didn’t mean she was stupid enough to fall for something like that.

“I’m not joking,” he’d said, sounding scandalized.

“Then prove it,” she’d said and he had.

Pammie considered herself a sensible person, but she was pretty sure even the most sensible of people would jump at the chance to be close to magic, even if just in the research sense. Plus Lethe was paid really well, far better than she’d get from any other job. If she worked for them she would actually be able to get through grad school without subsiding on instant ramen and baked potatoes and getting herself into more debt than she could ever hope to repay.

Of course she said yes.

She was very careful about how she explained her new job to her family. They all already thought she was making a huge mistake in going for her PhD at all. They tried to be supportive but Pammie knew they really wished she had a steady job and a husband and that she was working on the quintessential 2.5 kids and a house with a big yard and a white picket fence. No matter how hard she tried to explain that she wasn’t interested in things like that, whenever she was around her family the conversation always somehow managed to circle back to the nice, handsome boy she was supposed to meet and fall desperately in love with. The man who was supposed to fix her with his magic dick and make her straight.

The first day Dean Sandow brought her to Il Bastone was a day of wonder. There were so many new and strange things to look at that she struggled to pay attention while the dean explained her many duties. All she wanted to do was be left alone to do research and not rest until she understood everything about this strange part of the world she’d never realized existed.

Dean Sandow was just going over the deathly boring rules for food at Lethe gatherings when the front door opened and the house hummed as if in welcome. “Oh good, they’re here,” he motioned for Pammie to follow and he lead her to the entryway.

Two people about her age where stripping off their coats in the entryway laughing together. They both looked up at the sound of Dean Sandow and Pammie’s footsteps.

“This is Pamela Dawes,” Sandow said gesturing Pammie forward. “She’s our new Oculus. Miss Dawes, this is Michelle Alameddine and Daniel Arlington. Lethe’s current Virgil and Dante, respectively.”

“Very nice to meet you,” Michelle shook Pammie’s hand with practiced efficiency. Pammie saw Michelle notice the rings she wore--the black asexual on the middle finger of her right hand and the white aromantic on the middle finger of her left--but the other girl didn’t ask. Michelle was well-dressed and well-groomed. Exactly the sort of person you thought of when you thought of someone who went to Yale. So far Pammie had gone out of her way to avoid such people; they always made her look out of place.

“Nice to meet you too,” Pammie said, trying to sound as confident as the other girl did.

Michelle stepped away and Daniel stepped forward holding out his hand. “I go by Darlington, actually,” he said with a big Yale-like smile. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Pammie said. She hoped that smile didn’t mean anything. She’d never been much good at telling when people were attracted to her and Yale boys had a tendency to be the sort of men who thought women existed for their sexual consumption and didn’t like to hear the word “no.” Whenever she interacted with them she was constantly worrying she was missing signs that others would have caught. She’d had far too many boys smile and be nice only to to turn out to want to get in her pants to trust that boys who smiled like they went to Yale had no ulterior motives.

At least Darlington wasn’t quite as obviously Yale as Michelle was, which put her more at ease. He still help himself with a sort of poise you only got when you came from money, but there was something almost eccentric about him. That made Pammie feel better. She could deal with eccentric--hell, she was eccentric--there wasn’t enough eccentric at Yale.

Dean Sandow lead the three of them back into the sitting room, going back to the orientation he’d been going over with Pammie before they’d arrived. “Michelle will be graduating in the spring,” he explained. “Darlington is training to handle Lethe’s business alone until his senior year when he’ll choose his own Dante.”

“Do you live here?” Pammie asked Darlington and Michelle. Sandow had shown her the bedrooms upstairs but had never mentioned how much time Lethe’s representatives spent in them.

“No, we both live off campus,” Darlington said with another smile. “Michelle has an apartment and I’m fixing up my grandfather’s old country house. It’s called Black Elm. I can show it to you sometime if you’d like.”

Was that flirting? Pammie couldn’t tell. Thankfully Michelle laughed before she had to come up with a response. “Don’t let the name fool you. The place is a dump,” she said. “But it’s his dump so whatever makes him happy, I guess.”

“It is not a dump!” Darlington shot back, though he was still smiling. This was obviously an argument they’d playfully had many times. “It has character!”

“That’s enough,” Dean Sandow cut over them both. “I’m trying to get our Oculus up to speed. Is that so hard to understand?”

~~~~

It took a few weeks for Pammie to get her feet under her, but once she did she quickly grew to love her new job. She split her time between her TA jobs, her dissertation and learning as much about the secret societies and magic as possible. In many ways it was like being lifted out of the normal world and dropped into a book. When she called her parents and sister she struggled to keep the true nature of her Lethe job a secret. She wanted to tell them about all the wonderful new things she’d discovered, but she couldn’t. Not only was she sworn to secrecy, but her family would probably think she’d lost her mind if she started talking about the top-secret occult activities of the rich elite of Yale. Still sometimes she wondered if she admitted what she was actually doing if her mother would stop hinting that she should take a break from working and go to a party to meet some nice boys.

She was sitting on the floor in one of the sitting rooms of Il Bastone one Thursday when the front door opened and the house hummed in the way it always did when Darlington entered. Pammie looked up from the book she was taking notes on as he entered the room, swinging his backpack off his shoulders. “Good afternoon,” he said in greeting, dropping the backpack onto a chair in the corner of the room.

“You too,” Pammie said. “Tonight is ritual night, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, Skull and Bones,” he said. “Michelle will be along later. There’s a prognostication tonight.” he ran a hand through his hair. “Shit, I forgot to buy candied ginger after class. Michelle’s going to kill me”

Pammie winced in sympathy. She would never have to witness a prognostication--thankfully, because she had no desire to see someone’s stomach cut open and their intestines used to read the future--but she’d done enough research to get the general idea. She understood why having something for nausea would be a good idea if you were going to have to stick around and watch the whole thing. “Are you sure there’s nothing in cabinets?” she asked.

“I think I used the last of that last time, but I’ll check,” Darlington headed towards the kitchen and after a few minutes she heard him rummaging through the cabinets and pantry. Pammie wasn’t sure what the chances were of him finding any candied ginger even if it was there were; the last Oculus had sort of been a slob and Pammie was still in the process of rearranging Il Bastone so she could actually find things.

After about twenty minutes, Darlington came back empty handed and sank down onto the carpet a few feet away. “Nothing,” he said. “I’ll go out and buy some in a little while once I work up the motivation.” He leaned forward and peered at the cover of her book. “Is that for your dissertation?” he asked.

“Yes,” Pammie marked her place and handed the book over so he could study it. “It’s about the origins of tarot.”

Darlington read the back cover of the book and paged through it for a couple minutes before handing it back. “So I assume your interest in tarot is what got Sandow’s attention?”

“Presumably,” Pammie said, fiddling with the chord of her headphones. “I’ve been interested in tarot for years, but I gave up on believing it was real years ago.”

“Only to get lucky enough to be told it really was,” Darlington smiled again.

“I suppose you’re right,” Pammie said. There was an awkward pause. “What about you?”

“I wanted to know magic was real for years before I knew about Lethe,” Darlington said. “When I was a senior in high school I tried brewing Hiram’s Bullet by myself in a standard kitchen cooking pot. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t work. I almost died,” he shrugged like it didn’t matter. “When I woke up in the hospital Dean Sandow was there and offered me a place in Lethe.”

Pammie stared at him. She hadn’t had to brew the elixir used by members of Lethe to see ghosts--that was one of Darlington’s tasks--but she knew what it was and she knew how dangerous it was even when properly brewed. Darlington was lucky to be alive, but he talked about it like it was the best decision he’d ever made because it allowed him to gain a place in Lethe. For the first time, Pammie realized eccentric might be the wrong word to describe him.

“I obviously know how to brew it correctly now,” Darlington said, misreading the look of shock on her face. “That was the first thing I wanted Michelle to teach me when I came to Yale. I wanted to see the Grays.” he laughed. “She wasn’t so happy about that; she and Sandow were worried about me just straight up dying because of my misguided first attempt at the elixir.”

“You’re insane,” Pammie said before she could stop herself.

Darlington laughed and shrugged again. “Well, you won’t be the first person to say that.”

~~~~

As the months passed, Pammie fell ever more into the routine of her new life. She’d worried about what being the research assistant for a magical society might be like--after all the movies always made such things out to come with a high chance of a gory death--but it was actually very sedate. The various societies did all sorts of wild things, but they were also run by super wealthy undergrads so when they weren’t doing things for their alumni most of their activities were based around the pursuit of drinking, sex and a general good time which was at least consistent thought Pammie couldn’t help but find it a little anti-climatic.

She could tell that Darlington felt the same way. She’d been keeping a closer eye on him since she’d realized he was the sort of idiot who would do ill-advised things just to get closer to the magic he was so hopelessly enamored with. No one had outright told her that she was supposed to do anything other than do any research he and Michelle asked from her and make the occasional plate of sandwiches, but with Dean Sandow tied up in his college duties and Michelle busy surviving her senior year Pammie figured the task of making sure Lethe’s current Dante didn’t get himself killed fell to her.

As a result they’d been interacting more frequently of late. At first it was just casual conversations when they ran into each other in the halls of Il Bastone, but eventually Darlington started hanging out with her in the house’s big sitting room and working on his homework while she worked on her dissertation or graded papers. Sometimes they got off task and Darlington started telling stories about the various things he’d seen during his time in Lethe. Once he gave a particularly unflattering overview of the Ancient Eight which had them both rolling on the floor practically sobbing with laughter by the end. Another night Pammie taught him to read tarot, which was a particularly interesting experience now that she knew the cards really could tell the future.

He offered to show her Black Elm several times but she always came up with excuses not to go. She still couldn’t figure out what he wanted from their relationship and what she might be expected to do if she went to Black Elm with him. Maybe he showed Black Elm to all his friends, or maybe it was something he only did with women he was interested in. She couldn’t tell and not knowing was making her anxious. She knew the smart thing to do would be to just flat out tell him she wasn’t interested in him and be done with it, but she didn’t. For one, she liked the easy comradery they’d fallen into. She didn’t get on well with the other grad students, all of whom were too Yale to be interested in the girl writing a dissertation about a slightly taboo card game and most of the undergrads were, well, undergrads. Darlington was the only meaningful relationship she had and she didn’t want to make things awkward. If he wasn’t attracted to her he might be insulted that she’d thought he might be. If he was attracted to her, he might accuse her of leading him on--something which had happened to her in the past. Either option was bad.

Her family didn’t help. She hadn’t intended to mention Darlington to them because she knew what they’d think, but eventually she slipped up anyway.

“Who’s this Darlington person?” her sister asked, voice changing from the vaguely bored tone she always used when Pammie was rambling about her dissertation to a voice like a viper about to strike which Pammie unfortunately knew all too well.

“He’s no one,” she said quickly, though she knew there was no hope of escape. “Just someone I work with.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about him before?” her sister asked. She sounded like she thought this was the most interesting thing Pammie had said in months, which, to be fair, it probably was in her eyes. “Is he hot?”

“I guess?” Pammie said, fidgeting in her chair. Objectively Darlington was good looking, but that didn’t really mean anything to her. “He’s an undergrad,” she protested. 

“And you’re not an old woman,” her sister laughed. “You’re both adults. You’re probably only four or five years older than he is. That only seems weird because we’re all programed to think the man needs to be the older partner. You should go for it. What are you doing to catch his attention?”

Pammie didn’t think that was sound logic. “I’m not doing anything. I don’t want his attention,” Pammie protested. “We’re just friends.”

“You need to stop saying that and open yourself up to new possibilities,” her sister said with a heavy sigh. “You’re never going to find a husband if you don’t stop shutting down every possible relationship before it begins.”

“How many times do I need to tell you I don’t want a husband!” Pammie snapped. “I’m single. I’m happy single.”

“You’re just closing yourself off without trying,” her sister said. “It’s probably just anxiety making you think you’re not interested. You just need to rip off the bandaid and try it. If that doesn’t work get a therapist. You need to start living your life.”

Pammie actually had gone to a counselor in undergrad after her aunt Eva had died suddenly of cancer. She’d mentioned how she IDed in passing just to give the counselor an idea of where she’d been coming from. He had initially seemed supportive but right when Pammie had let her guard down he’d completely invalidated her in a way that had left her more distressed than she’d been before. She didn’t trust mental health professionals with her sexuality anymore.

“I need to grade some papers,” she told her sister. She’d already graded all her papers but she needed to end this conversation and she couldn’t think of anything else to say. “I’ll talk to you later,” and she hung up before she could hear her sister’s protests. She tossed the phone onto the couch, got up and marched upstairs so she couldn’t hear it vibrating when her sister tried to call her back.

By the time Darlington got to Il Bastone after class no one would have been able to tell she’d been crying.

~~~~

One of the many annoying things about college campuses was that illnesses spread like wildfire. It turned out that Yale was no different than any other campus in this manner. It also turned out the members of the secret societies were just as vulnerable to disease as everyone else.

All this to say that Pammie came down with the flu during the first few weeks of February. It could have been worse--at least it wasn’t the stomach flu--but she was still generally miserable for a week before starting to get better. During that time she stayed away from Il Bastone, the Hutch and Lethe in general. She did not want to infect Darlington and Michelle, especially since Aurelian was attempting a spell over a major contract on Thursday. It was a daring undertaking, one which Lethe’s representatives had to be at their best for, especially since Aurelian didn’t really have the power to complete such a complicated ritual these days.

The Thursday of the ritual was the first day Pammie both felt good enough and judged herself as past contagious and therefore it was the first day she was back at Il Bastone. She started to suspect something was up when Darlington didn’t show up after his last class. He normally came straight to Il Bastone on ritual days and did his homework in the sitting room with her while he waited for night to fall. She tried not to worry about it and set to work on grading--she was pretty behind after days of being sick.

Darlington didn’t show up until about half an hour before the ritual was due to begin. Pammie had her headphones on so she didn’t hear the door open, but she felt the house rumble in the way she’d come to realize was its special way of greeting Darlington. She pushed her headphones down around her neck as Darlington came into the room. The instant she saw him she did a double-take.

“How long have you been sick?” she asked.

Darlington gave her a glare which had no real bite. He looked awful, all pale and sweaty, with flushed cheeks and a red, sore nose. He was obviously sick. “A couple days. This stupid kid who sits next to me in one of my classes was coughing up a lung last week so that must have been how I got it,” he grumbled, making no move to remove his coat even though Il Bastone was warm. “I knew I should have bought hand sanitizer back when this whole fiasco started.”

“You look awful,” Pammie said. “Maybe you should go home and get some sleep.”

“I can’t. It’s ritual night. And Aurelian’s doing an inspiration charm so without me they’ll be overrun by Grays.” He fished an honest-to-god handkerchief out of one of his jacket pockets and blew his nose. Pammie could see that the handkerchief had his initials on it but it was far too old and worn for him to have bought it himself. It was probably another thing of his grandfather’s that he kept hanging on to.

Pammie waited for him to finish and start to put the handkerchief away before she spoke. She wanted to make sure she had his full attention. “You’re planning on taking the elixir tonight?”

“Yeah,” Darlington croaked, obviously not catching what she was getting at. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you’re obviously already feeling shitty?” she asked. “The elixir takes a lot out of you on a good day. It could literally kill you someday. I doubt it’s a good idea to take it when you’re already not at your best.”

“Aurelian is going to do their ritual whether or not I’m there,” Darlington said. “They’ve already put it off because their own members got sick. They won’t cancel again for me.”

“But you’re obviously sick,” Pammie pointed out. “Why can’t Michelle go without you?”

“She’s sicker than I am,” Darlington said. “She physically can’t get out of bed. And besides, I’ll be fine. Why do you care?”

“Because I’d be remiss if I let something happen to either of Lethe’s representatives,” Pammie said. “And because I don’t trust you to look out for your own wellbeing where Grays are concerned.”

Darlington looked a little chastised for a moment. He’d never admitted that he looked forward to Thursdays solely so he could take the elixir and see Grays, but they both knew he did. “I really don’t have a choice,” he said after a moment. “If I’m not there every member of Aurelian at the ritual is in danger.”

The sad fact of this new, magic life Pammie had somehow stumbled into was that--even though took place on a college campus--it was the kind of life where calling in sick could be a matter of life or death.

~~~~

Darlington left for the ritual only about half an hour after he’d first arrived at Il Bastone. He’d never taken his coat off in the entire time he’d been there and Pammie could see him shivering. She couldn’t focus on any of her work, so she just sat on the floor, watching the clock, headphones fitted snugly over her ears, swaying a little in time to the music, waiting.

She was ready for anything, but somehow still managed to jump when her cell phone started ringing. She looked down at the screen which displayed Darlington’s name. Fear rushed through her. She unplugged her headphones and pushed them down around her neck before answering. “Hello?”

“Dawes? Hi,” Darlington croaked. He sounded worse than he had when he’d left Il Bastone. “Can you come get me? I don’t think I can drive myself back.”

Pammie had expected something to go wrong, but she felt no vindication that it actually had. “Where are you?” she asked.

“At Beinecke Library,” he said. “The ritual’s over.”

“Are you alone?” Pammie asked, uncurling from the floor reaching for her coat and backpack.

“No, most of the members of Aurelian are still here cleaning up the mess,” Darlington said. He didn’t need to specify what kind of mess; many of the Ancient Eight’s rituals involved a lot of blood, and if Aurelian’s ritual had failed--which it likely had given their powers these days--the members would have to clean it all up themselves.

“Find somewhere you can lie down and have someone sit with you until I get there,” she said. “Tell them it’s their job to call an ambulance if you stop breathing or have a heart attack or something.”

“Dawes, you don’t need to freak out,” Darlington protested. “I’m just too dizzy to drive. I’m going to be fine.”

“I’m not freaking out, I’m taking precautions,” Pammie pulled her coat on and headed towards the front door. “You’re already more sensitive to the elixir than most members of Lethe on account of your ill-advised private experimentation. We need to make sure you don’t bite it and leave Lethe with no Dante right smack in the middle of the school year.”

“Fine,” Darlington heaved a sigh which turned into a coughing fit. He didn’t get his breath back until Pammie was already outside and turning her feet in the direction of Beinecke Library. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Don’t die,” Pammie said and hung up.

~~~~

She hadn’t thought to call a car so she ran, something which probably would have been more impressive if she wasn’t such a terrible runner. She speed-walked when she had to slow down to catch her breath but ultimately kept hurrying on.

She had been to the Beinecke Library multiple times in her time at Yale, but she’d never grown to like its appearance. It always looked pretentious and annoyingly modern to her. Libraries--especially libraries at places like Yale--were supposed to be big, grand old buildings not things which looked like they’d be more at home in Sci-Fi novels.

The front doors were unlocked so Pammie let herself in without difficulty. She could immediately see a bunch of students cleaning up a mess of blood around a line of tables on the far side of the lobby. The ritual had failed, just like she’d expected. One girl was sweeping up chalk which had been drawn over the floor. She wondered if there were any Grays still lingering.

A very Yale-like guy a few years younger than her moved to block her path. “The library is closed,” he said.

“Are you part of Aurelian?” Pammie asked and almost laughed at how his mouth opened and closed in shock at being called out. She was beginning to suspect everyone in the Ancient Eight was stupid. Assuming this guy was supposed to be on guard, he should have been out on the front steps, not in here where he couldn’t intercept anyone before they saw the ritual and started asking awkward questions. “Where’s Darlington?”

The guy obviously wasn’t sure what to make of her. She saw him taking in her wind-blown hair, her purple puffer coat--the color of which was something of a joke with herself--which she’d unzipped when she’d gotten hot during her run, the headphones which still hung around her neck and the black and white rings she wore and wondering how the hell she knew about Aurelian or Darlington. She didn’t even look like she belonged at Yale let alone in Lethe.

“You his girlfriend?” he finally asked. That was obviously the only explanation he could come up with.

Pammie drew herself up. “I am no one’s girlfriend,” she said. “Now take me to Darlington.”

The guy drew back in surprise. “Fine,” he said in a tone of voice that suggested he was trying to make her seem like she was overreacting. Pammie didn’t even try to keep him from seeing her roll her eyes. He turned red. “This way,” he muttered and stalked off.

Pammie followed him past the remains to the ritual to a place where a bunch of benches lined the walls. Darlington was lying on one with his arm over his eyes. Someone in robes--presumably an Aurelian--was sitting on the next bench looking awkward and worried. They were probably afraid they were going to get blamed for Darlington’s condition and reported to Dean Sandow.

Darlington moved his arms away from his face to squint up at her. “Don’t say it,” he groaned.

Pammie crossed her arms. “I told you so,” she said.

Darlington groaned and dropped his arm over his eyes again.

“How did you get here?” Pammie asked. “Did you drive?”

“Yeah,” Darlington muttered. “The car’s in the parking lot.”

“Give me your keys and I’ll pull it around,” Pammie said, holding out her hand. “Then we’ll head back.”

Darlington fished his keys out of his pocket and handed them over. Pammie turned them over in her hand and looked at the annoyed Aurelian who looked a little more willing to respect her than the guard, but not much. “Stay with him until I get back.”

“Dawes, I’m fine!” Darlington called after her as she headed outside. She ignored him.

~~~~

Pammie had forgotten until she was outside the library that Darlington drove a Mercedes. She stood in the parking lot, staring at the expensive, maroon thing trying to work up the courage to get inside. True, the car was another thing of Darlington’s grandfather’s--Pammie got the impression that something major had happened to the Arlington fortune to derail it between Daniel Arlington III and Darlington, but Darlington had never said what and she’d never asked--but it was still the most expensive vehicle she’d ever touched.

Eventually the need to get moving pushed her to unlock the car and get inside. She took her time adjusting the seat and mirrors. Darlington was lucky she knew how to drive stick.

She pulled the car around to the front of the library, then turned it off and locked the doors before heading back inside. She didn’t think it would get stolen in the middle of Yale, but with her luck it would.

When she made it back into the library, Darlington had managed to sit up, and was gripping the seat of the bench, swaying slightly back and forth. He squinted up at her when she stopped in front of him.

“Do you need help getting to the car?” Pammie asked, though she thought the answer to that question was blatantly obvious.

Darlington heaved a sigh and held out a hand. “Yes.”

~~~~

The next morning dawned gray and cold. Since Pammie had no idea where Black Elm was, she’d driven back to Il Bastone and spent an uncomfortable night on the couch because apparently whoever had designed the house hadn’t thought the Oculus would need a room to stay in--seemed like a gross oversight in her opinion, but she couldn’t say she was necessarily surprised.

She had been awake for hours and was back on the floor, working on grading when Darlington shuffled into the room, blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak. He blinked blearily at her, like he was surprised to see her.

“How are you feeling this morning?” Pammie prompted.

Darlington crossed the room and slumped onto the couch in a way that she was pretty sure wasn’t intentionally dramatic. “Like shit,” he groaned.

“Not surprised,” Pammie grinned. “You want breakfast?”

“You don’t have to get something for me,” he said, drawing his legs up onto the couch. “I’m surprised you even stayed.”

“I don’t have class on Friday mornings,” Pammie said. “And I wanted to make sure you didn’t die in your sleep.”

“I was never going to die in my sleep,” Darlington protested. Pammie just raised an eyebrow at him. “I wasn’t!” he repeated, then calmed. “But I am glad you stayed. It’s nice to know you care.”

Did he mean something by that? Or was she just overthinking it? Her confusion must have shown on her face, because he frowned. “Is something wrong?”

It was time to tell him. He’d practically asked for it. “Just, for the record,” Pammie said. She stared at the far wall so she wouldn’t have to look at him. “I’m not interested in you romantically or sexually.”

There was an awkward pause. “Um, okay,” Darlington said. Another pause. “Would it be rude of me to ask what I did to make you uncomfortable?”

“You didn’t do anything,” Pammie said. “I’m aromantic asexual. Do you know what that is?”

Darlington thought for a moment. “I think I’ve heard of it,” Darlington said. “That means you don’t like sex, right?”

Pammie took a deep breath. “I can see why you’d think that,” she said. “But that’s not the right definition. Asexual people don’t experience sexual attraction. That says nothing about how they feel about sex or whether or not they have it. Like all sexualiaties, asexuality is about attraction not action.”

Darlington frowned. “I’m not sure I understand.”

Pammie bit her lip while she thought. “Okay, so sexual attraction. Are you straight?”

“Yeah,” Darlington said.

“So you’re attracted to women,” Pammie said. “A gay guy is attracted to men. Pansexual people are attracted to all genders or regardless of gender. Bi people are also attracted to multiple genders, but the exact definition beyond that depends on the bi person. I’m aroace: I’m not attracted to anyone. When I was a teenager, I wasn’t really interested in dating and sex. I had a ‘crush’ in high school, but it was really just a guy in my class I’d chosen because he was decently good-looking. He was way out of my league and looking back I think that was part of the reason I picked him; I didn’t have to put any effort into dating if I was pining after him.

“Of course,” Pammie went on, because now that she’d started she wanted to tell him everything. “It’s a little more complicated than that with asexual and aromantic people because a lot of us use the Split Attraction Model,” Pammie went on. “The SAM is basically a theory which says that you can be romantically attracted to people but not sexually attracted to them. This also means, you can be asexual without being aromantic and you can be aromantic without being asexual. I’m aromantic asexual so I’m not romantically or sexually attracted to anyone, but a panromantic asexual is romantically attracted to people of all genders but not sexually attracted to anyone. An aromantic pansexual is sexually attracted to people of all genders, but not romantically attracted to anyone.”

Pammie took a deep breath and went on, “Plus, asexuality and aromanticism are both spectrums. Some people do experience sexual or romantic attraction but only sometimes, or only under very specific circumstances, or only once they’ve formed a really strong bond with the other person. The community is really varied and contains people from a wide variety of backgrounds and experiences.”

Silence fell over them. “Did any of that make sense?”

“I think so?” Darlington said. “That was a lot of information, really quickly.”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Pammie said. “I get like that when I talk about things I’m really interested in. I just talk and talk and talk and forget that people don’t need or want that much information.”

“Hey, that’s fine,” Darlington said. “I can tell you’re passionate about it, and that’s cool.”

Pammie grinned, that was more than she usually got from her family. “Thanks.”

Darlington smiled back. They lapsed into silence and Pammie went back to her grading.

After a few minutes, Darlington shifted and took a deep breath and said, “I just want to say that I’m sorry for making you feel like you had to be attracted to me,” he said. “I never meant to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t make me feel like I had to be attracted to you,” Pammie said. “I just can’t always tell when people are attracted to me. That’s more of an aromantic thing than an asexual one, and it’s not even true of all aros, but some of us have a hard time noticing. I’ve been accused of flirting with people when I was just trying to be friendly, for example, because I didn’t realize they would interpret my behavior as flirting. I figured it would be best to make sure we were on the same page.” She paused a moment then went on, “I’m totally up to being friends, though, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course I’m okay with being friends,” Darlington said, sounding affronted. “Why would I be mad about gaining friends?”

Pammie smiled. “My thoughts exactly.”

Darlington thought about it for a minute. “Does this mean you’ll come to see Black Elm? It’s a really great old place. You’ll love it.”

Pammie was still pretty sure decrepit houses bought by one’s rich grandparents were not quite her style, but still, “Sure,” she said. “I’ll come see it.”


End file.
